Have you missed in your aim? Well, the mark is still shining. Did you faint in the race? Well, take breath for the next. Did the clouds drive you back? But see yonder their lining. Were you tempted and fell? Let it serve for a text. As each year hurries by, let it join that procession Of skeleton shapes that march down to the past While you take your place in the line of progression, With your eyes to the heavens, your face to the blast. I tell you the future can hold no terrors For any sad soul while the stars revolve, If he will stand firm on the grave of his errors, And instead of regretting--resolve, resolve! It is never too late to begin rebuilding, Though all into ruins your life seems hurled; For see! how the light of the New Year is gilding The wan, worn face of the bruised old world. WHAT WE WANT. All hail the dawn of a new day breaking, When a strong-armed nation shall take away The weary burdens from backs that are aching With maximum labor and minimum pay; When no man is honored who hoards his millions; When no man feasts on another’s toil. And God’s poor suffering, striving billions Shall share his riches of sun and soil. There is gold for all in the earth’s broad bosom, There is food for all in the land’s great store; Enough is provided if rightly divided; Let each man take what he needs--no more. Shame on the miser with unused riches, Who robs the toiler to swell his hoard, Who beats down the wage of the digger of ditches, And steals the bread from the poor man’s board. Shame on the owner of mines whose cruel And selfish measures have brought him wealth, While the ragged wretches who dig his fuel Are robbed of comfort and hope and health. Shame on the ruler who rides in his carriage Bought with the labor of half-paid men-- Men who are shut out of home and marriage And are herded like sheep in a hovel pen. Let the clarion voice of the nation wake him To broader vision and fairer play; Or let the hand of a just law shake him Till his ill-gained dollars shall roll away. Let no man dwell under a mountain of plunder, Let no man suffer with want and cold; We want right living, not mere alms-giving; We want just dividing of labor and gold. THE TWO GLASSES. There sat two glasses, filled to the brim, On a rich man’s table, rim to rim. One was ruddy and red as blood, And one was as clear as the crystal flood.